


Eyes

by jazz_keeps_that_sadzz_away



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, M/M, america is kinda emotionally deprived because england was a bad guardian, everyone likes to make russia a villan and he is but so are they, i have no idea what im doing but all the nations are gods too now, lots of daddys ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), not even italy is nice, theyre really mean to each other, this a slow burn now im so sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21592732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazz_keeps_that_sadzz_away/pseuds/jazz_keeps_that_sadzz_away
Summary: He knew he wasn't something to be worshiped but he was anyway. Russia wasn't worshiped, so why did he get to be?What was even so great about freedom?
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), england/his anger problems, literally everyone/mental issues
Comments: 15
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

"Today we have a visitor; the God of War."

Cobalt eyes blinked, trailing up to a short man, whose garments were silken and full of rich material. The small boy slowly opened his mouth, "Daddy, does that mean you're going to war with a country again?"

Emerald eyes narrowed. "No," he muttered curtly. He tugged his coat on, " _But_ ; I have to run something by the Parliament later in the meeting, so I won't be here. Do not talk to him."

The boy stared as his father turned sharply to leave, the door closing. His eyes filled with victory.

He never said he couldn't take a glance.

The boy eagerly followed his father into the hallway and into his office, where he peaked his head in the cracked door. His eyes widened. A large-huger than he could ever imagine a human to be-man sat in a plush chair. What amazed him was not his lilac eyes, but the cold smile he wore. The man was handsome, with a strong and broad pale nose and high cheek bones. His hair was clumsily placed, but combed, and it held a pretty shine in its ashen color. It was like snow!

"I have heard you took a new God under your wing; Seas." The man's voice was deep and rough, yet somehow charming in a way with his Slavic accent which heavily lurked over his English. It alarmed him, and he fought not to gape.

"Yes, but that is not important to our matters." His father snapped, tone venomous. "I don't want your filthiness to stay for too long." The boy winced. Why was he so upset?

The large man laughed, the sound but a deep rumble that shook any person's bones. "Ah, yes." He replied smoothly, and the boy feared that smile as it gained a sharpness, callousness. "So; what do you want me to do?"

"Kill France."

Lilac eyes uplifted, brows raised. "Oh?" He said. "Surely you know he will come back-"

_"I know dammit!"_ Seas snarled. "I want him off my back so I can recuperate my men! That damned bastard has been on my last straw for a while now!"

The man hummed throatily. "I see. Is that all?"

"No, I-"

The boy's breath hitched as his father looked towards the door, quickly scrambling behind the grandfather clock. Who was France? Wasn't that a place? No, his father talked about a man named France some times, so maybe...Were they the same?

"-have to leave for a brief moment. Your arriving was not accounted for when the Parliament asked for me."

The large man said not a word, instead simply waiting for Seas to leave. The boy watched his father walk down the left hallway, letting out a shaky exhale of relief. He should have never left his room, he should return.

"Hello there."

He screamed, jumping in his skin as he frantically looked upwards. The boy couldn't help the terror he felt as he met eyes with the huge beast of a man. He took a small shaky step backward. "I-I I'm sorry!" He squeaked.

"Oh my," the man said, chuckling lowly, "I did not mean to frighten you young one. Here;" he crouched on a knee, smiling innocently, "Is this better for you?" 

The child had no answer, nodding his head quickly to please this man. The man sighed lightly, "Do you think I will hurt you?"

"N-No Sir," he lied, hands wringing each other.

The man smiled a bit, "I won't. Say," he cheerfully said, "Are you the one Seas has been recently bragging about?"

The boy hesitated, swallowing all the building up saliva, "Y-Yes Sir." His father told him people wanted to hurt him because he was special. Did that mean this man wanted to?

The man tilted his head to the side, "I am the God of War. But, most call me Russia."

"I...I am the God of-of Freedom," the boy whispered nervously. "I don't...have another name."

"No?" Russia questioned, "Ah, that won't do. Until you are named, we shall pick a human name."

"Human name, Sir?"

"Like Ivan. My human name is Ivan." Russia explained. "But since you have nothing to be called by but Freedom, it would be rather special to have a human name, yes?"

"That's a lot of names," he blurted.

"Indeed! This is why we usually go by the countries which best represent us mostly or the countries in which we are born." Russia stared at the boy and after a moment he hummed, "I think I have it! Альфред."

The boy nervously smiled, "A-Alk-feaad?" He had no idea what that word even meant. It didn't sound English, or even Native American.

"No no, _Альфред_." The man laughed gently, "Maybe not that, then. How about Alfred, then?"

The boy blinked, then his eyes widened in awe. "That name will be all mine?"

"Ah, no. Other people use them too, but it's different because no other God is named Alfred."

The child slowly rocked on his feet anxiously, and after the longest pause of his life, he hesitantly reached forward. His arms wrapped around Russia. "Th-Thank you," he stumbled out quickly before letting go, cheeks aflame.

Russia stared, a little startled. He slowly smiled, "Ah, you're much welcome, Alfred."

The-no-Alfred beamed, happiness filling his chest, squeezing him tightly. He really liked when Russia said his name.

"Freedom, what did I tell you!"

Both jolted, and the child fearfully looked to his father. He looked down. "I'm sorry Daddy-"

"Go to your room!" He barked. Then he turned his raging gaze to Russia, "What have you done to him?"

"Bold to assume I did anything, England," Russia sighed as he stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. He coldly stared at Seas. "I simply greeted him."

The boy could hear them arguing as he walked away, hands kneading the edge of his sweater. His eyes watered in shame and confusion. But the memory came and he glanced at a mirror in the hallway. He paused his retreat. He hesitantly set the pads of his fingers on his reflection.

A smile wormed up his face.

"Alfred."

That was his new name given by that big man. He giggled and walked away from the mirror, chest squeezing itself once more. He liked that man, he was so kind. He had to thank him the next time he saw him. He stopped his dramatic walking, and slowly his face fell.

Would he ever meet Russia ever again?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America's trying his bestest to be a good boy-and thinks all his problems are part of puberty. U̶n̶f̶o̶r̶t̶u̶n̶a̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶n̶'̶t̶.̶

_He was being replaced?_

"This, Freedom, is Canada. He is now your older brother."

He stared, eyes empty. "Hello, Canada."

Violet eyes glimmered timidly. "H-Hello, Freedom."

_Why did it make him so enraged?_

He smiled weakly, "It's good to meet you."

()()()

Canada.

He was weak, small, and pathetic.

He had nothing to contribute to making England's life easier or better. He was the God of Winter. He belonged to a country.

_What the Hell made him so useful?_

Freedom grit his canines, eyes livid. He didn't get it. He loathed he didn't because it seemed both England and Canada _did_. England replaced him and in his place a perfectly obedient and quiet boy took. He knew Canada was scarred from being forced from his guardian's hold and warmth. And Freedom wanted to believe that the warmth England gave him was being directed to Canada now. But it felt wrong. Anything England did made him want to tear out his heart and throw it in the ocean to get rid of the disgust that breached his lungs and stained them. Did he feel hollow?

Freedom hid in between his knees, sighing shakily. Anger switched to exhaustion. Freedom lifted his head slowly, mussing his hair to calm himself. "Dammit," he muttered. "I'm starting to act like England himself."

He didn't know when he started to feel hollow, or why he was replaced, or when he would gain England's approval ever again. Freedom slowly tilted his head, blond hair gently settling to the gravity. "Alfred." Canada was perfect, and England didn't love him anymore, but he had his special name. A name that no other God or Goddess had. A sudden laugh came from him and he stood up, straightening his blazer and the lenses on his nose.

He was probably just going through puberty.

But he felt and underling feeling of unease. He felt as if something were to happen soon, and he would have to admit his thoughts were true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this chapter is a lame, i just need some filler before we get the real story started. so the next few chapters may be a lil' short and kinda boring.
> 
> also i apologize for how mean america is in this chapter. he doesnt have the nicest mind set.
> 
> but most importantly, thank you for reading^^


	3. Who says

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canada stared at his brother.
> 
> All he saw was an evil power.

_Uselessness. What a common word he used. Nothing quite seemed to compare to England; they never did._

Freedom sat, legs crossed as he stroked his musket. It had been a gift, and he had never been so mesmerized by how powerful a weapon made you. It gave him comfort, peace of mind. Especially when the Thirteen Colonies fought tooth and nail to win their living chance to be free. It was akin to his perpetual feeling of being chained and he would frequently find himself cheering for them in his mind whenever they got a victory. Freedom smiled lovingly at the tip of the bayonet, forefinger gently pressing against the sleek iron that glistened.

"Freedom, stop doing that. You look positively insane," Canada commented quietly from his place at their shared work desk. The little thing had taken to writing letters to their father while he stayed in America, giving him updates and reports. Of course, the real reason was that Canada missed him. He and England shared a rather toxic relationship where one would take, and other only give. It was a vicious little cycle, and Freedom pondered if his brother would ever fully realize that it's bad for him.

"Mhmm," he said absently as he continued to gently prod at the sharp tip. Suddenly Freedom's eyes lit and he smiled-

Canada screamed as the bayonet was shoved mere inches from his face, him and the chair falling to the ground. Freedom let out a quiet laugh, head tilting. "Did that scare you?" he tormented, "You can't die. Why be scared of death?"

Canada swallowed slowly, staring up at his brother with a small ounce of fear. "W-Why are you like this," he whispered; less of a question and more of a defeated acceptance. His painful grip on his chest slowly relaxed, clothing crumbled. 

His brother's eyes lit.

Freedom shrugged lazily, cheerfully setting his musket on his bed. "Y'know," he said as he sat down on it as well, fingers trailing up the smooth wood, "One day we'll have to fight people for real, not just politically." He looked up, eyes cold as he smiled. "You should know that, right? You already have a country you're destined to follow."

Canada sighed and picked up his chair, sitting back in it, "I guess," he mumbled. "You're lucky."

"Oh?" Freedom's fingers on the musket twitched, a smile reaching higher. 

"You don't have a country to follow. You're _free_." Canada said, eyes downcast.

"Oh, but big brother," Freedom said slowly, voice nearly above a whisper as he walked over to him. Canada jumped as Freedom smiled emptily with his eyes wide, _manic_.

_"Freedom is just having to watch as your chains stain and stretch you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh! im really happy with this! also, im sorry if the chapters are coming out so quick; i just wanna get as much done while i still have break^^
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as you can see; this is kinda where things get more serious
> 
> (poor canada)


	4. Fear and Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America was its name. And it was the most breath-taking sight to behold.
> 
> It had the vastest lands of unexplored wonders, the people's souls sung so sweetly he wanted to join them so badly. He couldn't get enough of the sweet taste of won war. 
> 
> But he wasn't allowed to touch what he knew was his.

Perhaps if he tried he could muster up some morals and please his masters.

  


Unfortunately, those died when he had seen the "1814 Incident", as they so bashfully named it. In reality, it had been a cruel motive that only happened because of his kin wanting to demolish freedom. That he couldn't forgive, that he wouldn't go a day without his heart emptying when he thinks of the small little country he called his child.

  


America was its name. And it was the most breath-taking sight to behold.

  


It had the vastest lands of unexplored wonders, the people's souls sung so sweetly he wanted to join them so badly. He couldn't get enough of the sweet taste of won war. But he wasn't allowed to touch what he knew was his. He sulked like a child wanting his candy, but he knew this wasn't something to easily defined by where he was born like England, or Canada.

  


He could feel the freedom that danced of every bit of wheat fields, cities and towns bustling about happily, relaxing farmers watching their crops be devoured by the pink sunset.

  


He was terrified his dream would be taken away; that his children would all perish in one night.

  


_September 1, 1939. They all debated joining the second Great War._

  


"Freedom, _could you please focus_? I and your brothers are trying to figure this mess out," England spouted, nails raking the wooden table. He was reasonably resentful, but Freedom didn't feel like being obedient in the current moment.

  


Freedom's cobalt eyes raised from a sleek gun, it's glimmer far more interesting than his father. It was a replacement of his musket because it was far too bulky to carry around. It soothed his nerves which seemed to only grow the more he was in presence of the men who shackled him. Freedom smiled harmlessly, "Mhmm," he said, head tilting, "Why not just go neutral and not bother with this political development?"

  


England's eyes flared, "We aren't in America, Freedom," he hissed. "This is _Europe_."

  


Freedom's smile widened, feeling a sting in his chest as waved his hands aimlessly, laughing, "then no can do! Just join the war and hope for the best!"

  


Canada's eyes widened, and Freedom felt a morbid sense of satisfaction as he and their father stared. England looked ready to burst, and then he deflated. "Get out." He muttered.

  


Freedom tilted his head, eyes upturning behind his lenses, "Why?" He asked innocently.

  


It was Canada who spoke (Freedom had known he wasn't the same for a while now. Ever since the boy had drunk from the cup of bloodshed he had grown thirstier-weather he or anyone else noticed from behind those _falsely_ timid lilac orbs); "Why can't you act like an adult for once Freedom? This is _serious_."

Nails clawed into the clean pistol, eyes narrowing a fraction. Canada held his stance, and Freedom knew he automatically lost. He couldn't win against a fully-fledged God. Bitterness filled his heart and he suck out to destroy the horrid emotion. Freedom stood and let out a short exhale of irritation, pocketing his pistol in favor of accidentally doing something stupid. He turned sharply and left the room, the door shutting behind him. He fixed his glasses with the pad of his thumb. "They always win," he softly mumbled to himself. "I just wanna win, dammit." Then he felt anger for himself spike.

  


He was such a child. He just never made it easier for himself did he? Just why couldn't be see what his kin saw in the world? What made them so mature and ready to see the world simply disappear by tomorrow-

  


A glimmer of violet eyes filled his mind, and he paused slightly. He hesitated, but he felt soothed as he remembered the perfectly childish eyes that seemed to be genuine happiness and cunningness. He clung onto that feeling, embraced it gently.

  


Freedom lowered his tired eyes to his hand, the fingers slowly outstretching to bare a palm. A weak laugh filled the hallways and Freedom bashfully rubbed the back of his face. He imagined those eyes and shakily smiled. 

  


  


  


"You'll get through this, Alfred."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaa okay so i planned on getting this out a lot earlier but schools a mean bastard and i also had no idea how to start directing this fanfic to how i want it to go
> 
> please bare with me if everyone is cringy or occ TvT
> 
> and also have a great day!^^


	5. Verbatim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had been a weary and tired man when I first met the delectable sight of freedom. I felt as though my soul had been freed by those tiny trembling hands, something terrifying to think.

Perhaps I had been too eager, too naive.

I have watched many empires rise and fall, seen them at their most pristine and most volatile. But never had I tried to find myself above all others. I had tried to tone down the viciousness inside of me for the sake of the people I was near.

Perhaps that was something of a.....mistake, a mishap on my part.

I was born in the middle of a snowstorm. My skin had been cold as the ice that covered me, and yet I can only remember being soothed by the gentle numbness that slowly soaked my bones. I don't think I could not enjoy the fall of snow and feel it melt within my hands. I had risen from the snow with uneasiness because while the snow comforted me, it felt as if I needed something to warm my chest. It panged unhealthily, and for what I would never know until I had already made millions of empires crash onto the ground by my hands.

I had been a weary and tired man when I first met the delectable sight of freedom. I felt as though my soul had been freed by those tiny trembling hands, something terrifying to think. Blue eyes such as the skies, skin the color of golden fields of wheat; everything has alluded me. The urge was too much not to follow.

"Hello there."

The boy had screamed, terrified and scared. It was clear he thought I would harm him, or possibly kill him. England usually did corrupt his "colonies" as such. I crouched low to help the boy lose his fear. The boy hurriedly apologized and pleaded, something which did not please me.

"Are you the one Seas' taken to bragging about?" I asked because it certainly seemed so, and sympathy filled me for the boy.

"Y-Yes sir," he whispered.

This did please me, and I couldn't help but smile, "I am the God of War, but most call me Russia."

The had fiddled with his shorts, "I-I'm the God of Free-Freedom...I have no other name."

I refused to call this boy by the simple name of Freedom, for I had known that the call of only what your purpose is for can be wearing on the soul, and seemed to have already done its part on this boy. I named him Alfred, something that delighted the boy-and as a result of his own also delighted me as well. But the boy wrapped his arms around me, something which deeply surprised me. "T-Thank you," he whisked out before letting me go.

I could only somewhat respond and try not to let the simple gesture affect me. But it had felt warm and soothing, much like a warm summer day which basked you in affections.

"Ah, your welcome, Alfred," I slowly said.

The boy's eyes positively lit, and for a long second, I could not think of anything else but the warmth I was given with that beautiful and genuine smile. I quickly grew the need for more of it, and my chest melted comfortably.

The voice of Seas broke the moment of realization, and annoyance flurried in my chest. The poor child looked as if he were to be killed, scurrying away to his "father's" demand.

"What did you do to him?" The simple accusation irked me as I stood to reaffirm myself.

"Bold to assume I did anything, England. I simply greeted him."

England hotly glared at me, "I do not want you _corrupting_ this boy Russia, he is _mine_."

Disbelief filled me. I laughed mockingly, "You truly think you can control that boy like your many other colonies?"

"What makes him any different than them." It bothered me, _bothers_ me, just how easily the seas can grow so violent and unkind. Truly, it seems this man was perfect for her.

I could not respond, and still do not think I should have. Cruel as I can be, I hope this man learns of what that boy is. He is no mere token of godship, an object of personification.

Because much like War, Freedom listens to no one, and not even itself.

I wish to see when this boy realizes this, and the threat he will become when he finds something to defend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided we needed some russia since we're getting there and stuff
> 
> i tried 3rd person but i felt like this needs a 1st person for russia so im sorry if that was weird XD


	6. Time Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In that moment, everything felt like it had zeroed down, slowed.
> 
> In that very moment, Freedom felt, for the first time, conflicted.

England, as the man saw fit to oversee America even thought they rightfully gained independence, had brought them to a meeting of sorts In New Mexico. Except, from what the buzzing air and bustling scientists and workers were telling Freedom, this was just more than a little meeting with a Representative or God. 

**16 July 1945**

"As you can see," a man spoke gravelly, and they all zoned in on him. Robert Oppenheimer, if Freedom remembered Canada's ranting correctly. "I present, the Trinity."

New Mexico eyed the man warily while England looked rather unimpressed, "Yes, and what does it _do_?" He asked in a clipped manner. He always most humans with as much care as one would with an insect. 

"Well," he said slowly, then paused and inspected the God. "Perhaps it would be better to _show_ first." He looked over at another man and he rushed off.

In the next few minutes as they waited in anticipation Freedom felt a little off put, uneasy. Could sense it from the grounds, from the breif connection he had to this soil. He could tell the others felt it, but New Mexico, the poor girl, looked pale and worried. She was young, looked physically like a 16 year old, and while New Mexico the land had been taken in by his children, she was the rightful mother to this presently state. Sometimes, as he'd learn over the years, Gods often found a unity of people and stuck to them like a glue. England had never been thrilled about New Mexico since she was distantly taken care of by another God that he was enemies with. Wasn't anything new, England was enemies with everything. Except maybe Canada.

Freedom leaned down slightly so he wouldn't spook the poor thing with his height, as she was very small, and smiled good-naturedly. She took this in stride, nodding shortly. Well, Freedom may hate all the old, condescending Gods, but he liked to keep connections with newer ones. 

When they were told to put odd looking spectacles on, Freedom felt less confident than before. He put them on, staring at the working humans in growing worry. Then it all made sense when he felt like the world was consumed by a hot white light before death appeared before his very eyes.

He saw New Mexico drop to the ground and give an harsh wail of agony, writhing on the floor. Then he felt a hot searing pain in his heart and grimaced, leaning against the wall as he inhaled sharply in pain-but it was nowhere to what the girl felt as a few men tried to help her only for limbs to kick and claw at them. But his eyes were glued to the sight before him, watching as the cloud dimmed with the light, how noise was slowly coming back to him, and realized his children had done this. He laughed, a good soft and terrified one.

For once, he feared the people who he claimed.

No one talked the way back home.

()()()

"Freedom?"

The boy looked up from his glock, willing himself to look in the eyes of Canada. The God watched him pensively for a moment before he licked his lips nervously and continued, "What do you think will happen with that thing?"

Ah. He'd forgotten about _"That Thing"_. The man must have been deeply worried to even want his input

He hummed quietly, looking down to continue to polish the gun. "Well, they wanted to finish making the ghastly thing before Germany, yes?" He said, happy when Canada nodded in confirmation. "Then, it's likely to be just a tactic of wits. To show the world they _can_ do something."

"But," his brother waveringly muttered, "What if the Americans go to war?"

Freedom paused. He thoughtfully looked at Canada. He smiled, then. "Then the world will shudder when they bring death to their door."

Canada could only nod in weak agreement.

For once, Freedom mused, he didn't very much like the world. He felt like he would continue to "for once", like everything would only get worse. And he knew he was right.

But he shook it off, standing up, "Why don't I make some pie?" He offered. Canada perked at the mention of a distraction, and off they went to the kitchen. Sometimes it was nice to remind himself that while Canada was the official God, he was a lot less severe with everything. It was good, especially when everything was bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school is starting up again and i was reading this. why not kick start the year of covid with restarting this bad fanfic uwu


	7. This is their dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom gets to see Russia again, but he also gets to see the other gods.

At some point, he began to think how amusing it was that he was still a child in many Gods' eyes. He was rather tall, but his baby face and thin body only seemed to distract from the fact he was, in fact, much older than the other colonies-as England so belovedly called them. Even Canada, he was almost sure, was younger than him but had no proof to really say he was. Canada would just get mad and flaunt his godly status.

Which was why, when England practically forced him into a meeting full of _real_ , breathing Gods he felt his heart drop in fear. Canada only looked confused aswell when he asked, and Freedom didn't know if that made it worse or not. But, with his glock hidden in his bomber jacket (a gift from one of his dear humans), he walked into those big doors without a trace of the unease he felt on his face. England took a seat besides-oh who was he? As Freedom inspected this man Canada shoved him into a seat in the middle of him and England. "Oh, what a wonderful surprise!" The God said handsomely, flashing a nice smile to England and then Freedom, "You've actually brought him! I was worried he didn't exist." There was something up with his accent.

England sneered, "Keep your face turned to the right direction," he hissed. Oh, so England hated him-

_France!_ This was the God of Love! Now he remembered! England hated him! Freedom gave a self satisfied sigh, much to Canada's amusement. It wasn't really his fault, he was never allowed to hear about the Gods unless his brother talked about them.

France sniffed and flipped his golden hair, "You're being rude," he said, then looked back at Freedom. "Who are you, dear?"

Freedom blinked. Then he turned his eyes to England judgingly. The short man made a point not to look at him. Of course England would never bother to say anything about him other than he was his colony. Fucking narcissist. "Freedom," he said slowly, still glaring at his father.

France lit up, "Oh?" He said, ecstatic, "What a name to have!"

Freedom rather liked Alfred better, but he didn't word it. "Thank you," he said with a polite smile. France continued to bombard him with questions he dutifully evaded, a little pissed Canada and England didn't bother to help him out. Thankfully the blond stopped when a few other people joined the room. Freedom followed his eyes, curiously watching the other Gods. They all looked wounded, perhaps worse than Enlgand's broken arm and fractured collar bone. Then his eyes caught violet and he stopped breathing for a moment.

Russia still looked gigantic but there was weight on the God as he sat at a seat. His hair was a bit longer and untamed, uniform looking like it had been hastily thrown on. He looked so much more different but also the same that Freedom couldn't help the tiny twitch of his lip. While he had never been granted to know much about the Gods, Canada would always be a blabber mouth when it came to him, so he learned as much from him as he could about the God of War. It was hard to see him as anything but Ivan though, the man who gave him his little silly name and that he cherished childishly. The man's dulled eyes wandered to France, who was bickering with England, and when they met eyes his own widened.

Freedom couldn't help but stare, but it seemed like Russia wanted to also stare so he wasn't alone. Those violet eyes looked a shade paler, a notch darker in wariness. He looked like a thoroughly exhausted man. He wondered what he looked like to Russia. Surely the man would just think of him as a child still, but he didn't really mind. He smiled at the man before he broke the contact, listening to Canada try and resolve the fight England and France started. He felt the God gaze at him a few moments longer before he also looked away.

He felt like singing, a pleasant sizzling in his chest as he hid a smile with his hand as he leaned his chin on it. He dearly hoped Russia remembered him.  
  


()()()

The rest of the meeting had been a little dull compared to him seeing Russia again-not really _dull_ per say as plain devastating. Sometimes Freedom genuinely wondered why Gods sided with countries, because he could see the clear anxiety and full of loathing glares they threw around at each other. Especially Germany or German Reich as England called him, the God of Iron. The bulky man didn't seem at all bothered with those venomous glares, taking hateful comments in stride coolly. The longer Freedom watched him, the more disturbed he felt doing so. He didn't like the way he moved in such a fluid manner, like he knew every eye watched his hand move as if he was going to signal an attack. It felt like he was watching a ticking time bomb-ironic coming from him-as the minutes trudged on.

Honestly, Freedom didn't want to affiliate with a country if it meant having to deal with this, thank you very much. He would have rathered stay home.

When the meeting ended Freedom nearly let out a relieved breath but he knew that'd be rude so he just waited for England to get up. Except he didn't. Freedom looked at him incredulously only to get an agitated glare back. They were quiet as all the Gods left (Freedom glancing at Russia once more) except German Reich. Immediately Freedom felt on edge, tensing slightly as England finally stood. German Reich took that as leeway to also stand, slowly walking towards them.

"England," the man drawled in greeting, stopping in front of him.

The man only passively stared at him, eyes narrowed. 

The God chuckled, then cast his gaze to Freedom, who froze as a smile played on pale skin. "Ah, is this my prize?"

Freedom's eyes widened-

What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, guess whos actually trying to upload things?? me, surprisingly. anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter, have a good day ^v^

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gonna try and make this a series but this was a one shot so i need a plooot first before i can do anything else. (im also sorry if its boring i had nothing better to do i tried to slowly world build but with the characters)


End file.
